


Hollow Men

by jakelsx



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Gen, Inspired by Poetry, TS Eliot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-10
Updated: 2013-06-10
Packaged: 2017-12-14 12:25:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/836852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jakelsx/pseuds/jakelsx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is how the world ends. Not with a bang, but with a whimper. The men of the group reexamine their lives before the final battle. Based on the poem by T.S. Eliot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hollow Men

The Hollow Men

I.  
They were the hollow men. Huddled together over an invisible fire. Spitting out air, hoping to create words. 

Shape without form. Gesture without action. There were a lot of things said that night. 

“What if he came around this way?”

Or “We shouldn’t focus on just one possibility.”

Or “Take the offensive. They’ll never expect it.”

Or “Maybe we’ll all be dead tomorrow.”

Sitting around an aluminum slab, hunched over, leaning into the conversation, they looked like kids gossiping. Meaningless, circumventing exchanges. But really, all they wanted was to make a difference. 

It was too bad their souls were carcasses now, filled with different sorts of emptiness. 

II.  
Her eyes as they closed. He saw that in reverse when he dreamed. 

Her voice singing. He heard it in his sleep. 

Carl could only pretend for so long. He was really just a kid, hiding under a man’s shadow and trying to make it his own. Looking out from the brim of his father’s hat, he saw the world cruelly. It had to be dealt with seriously and efficiently. 

After all, isn’t that what men do? In the final stages of this life, he would see the twilight like it was meant to be seen. Doing the right thing, protecting his blood, and fighting for change. 

He would beat this world. Just like she said he would. 

III.  
He grew up in the desert where it was quiet at all times of the day. It was similar at the prison, especially as the night fell. 

Back home, he would see land littered with the dead. Bones picked off by scavengers, remains of half-eaten flesh. He supposed this was no different. 

Daryl thought about his brother when the time came. He thought about what it might’ve been like to get be one of them. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he prayed that there was some semblance of a man. Partly to finally get the satisfaction of getting one over his big brother. 

He sat in his perch alone like all other days. But as night fell now, he felt whole. He felt himself tremble under the kindness of his new family. 

Even though he didn’t realize it, the prayer for love he made when he was small was realized. And that had transformed him into stone. 

Hard, difficult to break, but easily crumbled if driven into the right crack. 

IV.   
The eyes are not there. There was nothing when he closed his eyes so he tried not to. He didn’t want to go to sleep because then he wouldn’t see her eyes. 

Those beautiful, forest green eyes that sparkled with life and love. They weren’t in the night. 

So in the late hours, he would whisper in her ear endlessly to keep her eyes open. Glenn knows that she’s tired but he’s selfish. He knows that any night could be their last. 

They groped together, fingers intertwined and legs tangled together. He pressed his chest against her back so he could feel her heartbeat. He rested his head against hers so he could hear her breathe, in and out. 

In the darkness when she was asleep, he was lost until she woke again. Until her eyes reappeared to greet him. Because that was the only hope he had. What he was fighting for. 

V.  
The idea and the reality. The motion and the act. Could he bridge the gap? Could he create what the world tried to destroy? Rick sat back and put the pieces together but everything was so broken. 

But it was for a little bit longer, he said. Because his people would rise out of the shadows on the backs of his hollow men. This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang, but a whimper.


End file.
